Comforting A Frightened America
by AmericanMadeInChina
Summary: All it takes is a certain frightened American asking him to check under his bed for monsters for England to realise that America hasn't changed at all. {UKUS, England x America}


**A/N: Hey hey this has probably been done already. Fuck it.**

**Warning: Pervy England, Oblivious America, perverted humour (well, an attempt)**

_**Comforting A Frightened America**_

_'How did I end up spending my Saturday night with this bloody twit?'_

England stared tiredly at the screen in front of him. Yawning loudly, the European nation leaned back on the soft, scarlet sofa and sunk into the inviting cushions. He would've been able to fall into a deep, enjoyable slumber if it hadn't been for the nonstop shaky sobs coming from the younger country beside him.

"Ah!" America jumped in his seat next to England as an intimidating man holding a blood-coated dagger popped up on the television screen. The blond American hid his sky blue eyes under his blanket. The screams of a high-pitched voice engulfed the room, causing America to shake even more violently as weak cries of fear continued to erupt from his throat.

The big-browed Englishman continued to gaze with a pokerface, only flinching slightly whenever America hid his face in his shoulder. England repeatedly was forced to fight off the urge to gently run his fingers through those soft strands of golden blond hair, to softly whisper comforting words in the younger nation's ear. America would find him as his only source of comfort, and lean into his warmth while clashing their eyes of different colours together. England would lace his skinny fingers with America's chubbier ones while the he would place his other hand on America's waist. Britain would lean his face closer to the American's, and he would do the same. The space between their lips would grow smaller and smaller until America's soft, plump lips brushed against his own. They would press their lips together more roughly as England shoved his tongue inside the wet cavern known as America's mouth. And finally, he'd let his hand travel south. He'd desperately fumble with America's fly, and then-

England sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. His fantasies were getting out of hand. Well, there was _one _good thing about fantasising about the American—it took up time while watching foolish horror films with him. But of course, he couldn't spend _all _of his time at America's residence fantasising. If he did that, then he'd be forced to waddle towards the bathroom with his thighs pressing together. One, that was uncomfortable, and two, it would shatter his pride so mercilessly.

Sadly, his imagination was becoming a bit too dirty, and he was forced to focus on the film that was playing. It seemed that a different one was on, because England didn't recognise any of the characters.

The Briton let out a deep yawn once again. England glanced at the clock (which he noticed long ago was a _Superman_ clock). It was already 1:45 A.M.

_'That late already?' _England let out a groan and glanced over at the still shaking American. America's cerulean orbs were still fixed on the television, shaking with absolute fear and dread.

Sighing, England mused, _'How does he enjoy such films?'_

After watching America quiver in fear for a few more minutes, England finally decided he'd had enough. "America, can we go to sleep now? It's already two in the bloody morning!" he complained.

The blonde's exclamation seemed to have snapped America out of his trance. The American male frowned. "Aw, come on! The night he still young!" he protested, a pout on his face.

England's scowl deepened. "If this is what you idiotic Americans call early, I'm afraid to ask what late is..." he grumbled. England was exhausted, and that meant he wasn't going down without a fight. Sighing for the umpteenth time, the Briton prepared himself to argue. "Do you have any idea how incredibly _rude_ you are being? I take my Saturday night and spend it with you, and you repay me by keeping me up all night? Humph, what a horrible host you are!" Britain could've sworn he saw a look of hurt flash across America's face, and then disappear as quickly as it appeared. He would've apologised if it hadn't been for his large amount of pride.

The younger of the two nations picked up the remote and turned the television off. "Fine." America huffed. He collected his blanket and stood. "But _you're _sleeping on the couch." he said, and England couldn't help but notice how incredibly childish he sounded. Without another word, America stormed off into the other room.

England knew America's last remark was meant to be offensive, but he couldn't find any insult in it. He had seen America's room, and waking up to see what you had slept in must've been a horror story all over again.

The European country watched as the last light in the house was flicked off. He laid down on the sofa and let his mind wander as his eyelids became heavier and heavier with sleep. England glanced over at the blanket America had lent him that resided on the other side of the sofa. England grabbed hold of the soft, baby blue material and drew it closer to him. He pressed the blanket to his nose and breathed in the scent of fast food, cologne, and the pure smell of America's sun-kissed skin as if it was the oxygen he needed so desperately to survive.

England knew his actions were absolutely pathetic, but nobody was around, so his pride was hardly wounded. He soon found out that America's scent was his prescription sleeping pill, because he found himself dozing off. The intoxicating smell led him into an ecstasy-filled dreamland of a certain blond American.

"E-England?" Said Briton was still half in his dreams when he heard a familiar voice call his name. Only when England was shaken gently did he awake. Grunting, his eyes fluttered open to meet a form standing in the darkness.

"Ah, America? What is it?" he asked, still half-asleep.

America shuffled his feet in place and stared down at the floor. "Um... Could you...uh..." the American trailed off. His face was turning a shade of pink, but luckily for him, it was dark.

England's patience was running low at the lack of words coming from America's mouth. "'Can I' what? Spit it out already!" he ordered.

America flinched slightly at the sudden exclamation. "Could you..." he trailed off for a the second time, but finished the question when his eyes met England's piercing glare that somehow ripped through the dark. "Could you check under my bed?" The inquiry came out speedily. The younger of the two stayed silent, but spoke up once again when a confused expression crossed England's features. "Like...for monsters."

The Brit stared blankly for a few moments. "Did I hear that correctly? _Monsters?!"_

The younger man nodded. England couldn't see him nod his head, but the question wasn't in need of an answer.

"Are you kidding me?! America, do not disturb my sleep for such a foolish trick ever again!" Without another word, England slid back under the blanket and closed his eyes.

"Eh? England, it ain't joke!" America said, his face turning a darker shade of red. He began shaking the Briton once again.

England growled and whipped his head back up. "I am _not_ looking under your bed for bloody _monsters."_

America pouted. "Not just monsters... Check for like, murderers."

It took all the strength England possessed for him to not face palm. "Even if something _was _hiding under your bed, it'd be dead by now. Hiding under _your _bed."

The younger country ignored the insult. "Come on!" He let the 'o' in 'on' trail off. "I'll let you sleep if you do!" America offered.

England sighed. "I'm not going to get anywhere with this, am I?" he thought aloud. "Fine." With that said, England stood from the couch and let America lead him to his bedroom.

As he followed the other man, for a split second, he saw a short, colonial American that was made up of a mere thirteen colonies. The child was gone as he appeared, and the present America was back once again. The scowl that England wore was slowly replaced with a small smile. England held back a chuckle. _'That's right, America would always ask me to look under his bed whenever I told him scary stories.' _England thought as he gazed at America's backside. _'I guess he really hasn't changed.'_

By the end of his second thought, England had been led to the bedroom. It was a nightmare, as he remembered. Both dirty and clean clothing thrown this way and that way, as well as DVDs, video games, and a few objects he was scared to identify.

The Brit could feel his supper coming up out of his stomach, but he swallowed it before anything could escape his throat. _'I must tidy this place up soon.'_

America hid behind England cowardly. Sighing once more, England walked over to the bed and knelt down. He bent close to the floor. He quickly scanned under the bed, knowing America wouldn't let him retire to the living room until he did so. England was surprised to see that it was much cleaner under the bed.

The European stood back up and dusted his pyjama pants off. Looking up at America, he said, "See? Nothing's under there. Now, go. To. Sleep." England ordered sternly.

Before he had a chance to walk back into the living room America spoke. "Actually," he started.

England turned to face the other and frowned, crossing his arms. Despite his frustration, the Brit acted far more patient this time. "What is it now?" he asked, rubbing his temples.

The other man hesitated. "Do you think you could . . ." He twiddled his thumbs for a moment. "Sleep with me?"

Britain nearly choked on his own spit, immediately given the wrong idea. A red hue spread across his rather pale face, making his blush horribly obvious. To hide the tomato that his blush was making out of his face, England turned his face towards the floor, as if studying the wooden panels that were decorated with clothing. "Wh-What do you mean by 'sleep with'?" He cursed himself for stuttering.

America looked up, confusion gracing his features. "I was asking if you could stay with me in bed for the rest of the night. What did you think I—oh god." The oblivion was erased from America's face and replaced with a look of shock.

England picked his face up immediately. "America, I—" He was cut off.

"England, you. . .you _pervert_!" the American exclaimed while pointing accusingly. "Why the hell did you think I meant _that?!"_

England was silent for awhile, not quite sure what to say. "Well...yesterday my boss and I met up with France and his boss. So maybe some of his pervertedness rubbed off on me?" Well, he tried.

America didn't look convinced, but responded anyway. "Still, I don't wanna sleep in the same bed as a perv!" He purposely chose his words carefully.

England growled a bit. "I'm not—" he was interrupted for the second time. Only this time, it was by the booming crack of thunder.

America nearly jumped, but instead wrapped his arms around the elder country. Britain could feel his heart stop momentarily, as if it too wanted to be still to feel the warmth of his beloved against his body.

_'Wow, he smells really good.'_ England noticed. It smelled even better than that blanket he had been getting so intimate with previously.

The Englishman didn't want to move their position. All he wanted to do was stay wrapped in America's warm arms and rest his head against his broad chest. England could feel America's breath dancing across the crook of his neck, and it triggered a slight tingling feeling in his nether regions. He ignored it.

England took the closeness of their bodies as an opportunity to lift his hand and run his fingers through the wisps of wheat-coloured hair that belonged to America. He stood on his toes to lean closer to the American's ear.

"It's okay, I'm here, love." he assured him, his other hand stroking America's hunched back. The words only made him move closer to England, his arms close to crushing the smaller body. He let out a small whimper to replace the loud, obnoxious sobs that had been bouncing from his throat before.

Boy, did that little whimper turn England on or what. _'Ignore it.' _he urged himself, but the party in his boxers refused to calm down.

Only when the sound of a loud snore erupted from the side of his neck and a heavy weight was thrown on his shoulder did his "London Bridge" agree to fall down. England glanced over at America, only to see him with his eyelids weighed down over his cerulean orbs. His mouth hung open on his shoulder, with drool hanging over his bottom lip.

England couldn't help but let a chuckle slip past his lips. Using all his might, he dragged America over to the bed and flipped him over onto it. He placed a blanket over the younger nation before walking towards the door. Unexpectedly, he stopped at the threshold and turned around, gazing at the sleeping American on the bed as his chest rose and fell repeatedly.

Suddenly, England's pride didn't seem to matter as much as usual. He flicked the light off, and walked towards the bed once again. He lifted himself up onto it beside America, pulling up some of the blanket for himself. The Englishman smiled softly as he stared gently down at America. Leaning down, he gave the sleeping man a quick peck on the lips.

He laid his head down on the pillow, still gazing passionately at America's sleeping features in the dark. Aloud, he mused, "I'll come up with an excuse in the morning."


End file.
